


Whispers of the Mountain Laurel

by MomtherSeries



Category: Hermitcraft, Minecraft - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Hurt and comfort, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-26 19:00:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19011925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MomtherSeries/pseuds/MomtherSeries
Summary: Grian is sick. And he’s not getting better.





	Whispers of the Mountain Laurel

**Author's Note:**

> There’s lots of discreptive whump ahead, including blood and puncture wounds. It’s not super gory, but heads up anyways!

Grian didn’t have many opportunities to just stop and take a moment to look around him and appreciate the world he was in. Placing a log down on his villagers roof, he took a moment to just... look. 

The world was still. Evening was arriving, and the golden glow of the sun filtered through the leaves of the spruce trees, reflecting onto Hermitville. Xisuma’s chapel stood tall in the distance, and the houses lay quiet in the dying light. Everything was peaceful, and-

“Oh! Another dumb Pillager raid!” 

-and maybe not as peaceful as Grian would’ve liked it to be. Pouting, Grian grabbed his crossbow and aimed at the closest Pillager. He fired, the arrows hitting with a sickening thunk as the Pillager collapsed and then disintegrated into XP orbs. 

“Good shot.” Iskall commented, learning out on his bannister. 

“Are you going to help?” Grian asked. 

“Nah, you’ve got it handled. Besides, I don’t have any armor here. I left it back at the Lab.” 

“Oh, I see how it is,” Grian said with a wide grin, “You just know you’ll be shown up by my awesome crossbow skills!” 

“Dude!” Iskall laughed. “As if! I can out crossbow you any day! Besides, you don’t have any armor in either.” 

“You have a point there.” Grian admitted, aiming his bow again, and firing at another Pillager and barely grazing its arm. It let out a disgruntled noise, and shot back in retaliation, but missed horribly. “What are you? A coward? They miss most of the time anyways!”

Grian stuck his tongue out at Iskall playfully, and the other man snorted. 

“I am not a coward! I guess I can help you clear out most of them. We’ll have to be careful though.” Iskall said, and ducked inside his house. 

“Let’s make a competition out of it! Whoever kills the most pillagers wins!” Grian called out, hoping his voice carried down Sahara street into Iskall’s home. The brunette popped his head back out to respond. 

“That’s a little messed up, but I’m in! We start from zero.” Iskall aimed his own crossbow at a pillager and fired, killing it almost instantly. “Well, you can start from zero. I’m at one!” 

“Hey! That’s no fair!” Grian laughed, and clambered down his roofline, landing on the ground. 

The next thirty minutes were filled with the sound of battle. Overly enchanted crossbows made quick work of the pillagers, but there were plenty get rid off. Grian got hit a few more times then he would’ve like to admit, with no armor and him being on low ground. A few scratches lined his arm, but mostly he was just tired. 

“How’re you holding up, Iskall?” Grian shouted, panting as he slammed a Vindicator into the ground behind Sahara Express, stabbing his sword into it’s chest. 

“Oh, just fine!” Iskall called back, sounding similarity out of breath. “I think to stop the raids we need to just leave one? That’s what Xisuma said.” 

“Wait, really? That’s it?” Grian asked, jogging up to Iskall, who sheathed his sword. 

“Yeah, or something like that. I think we only have one or two left anyways.” Iskall said, and peered around the edge of the building he was hiding behind. 

“There’s one,” Grian said, pointing to behind Stress’ home. “It looks like he’s trapped by-“ 

Grian gave a pained cry as an arrow hit his shoulder, digging into his flesh. Immediately, Iskall turned and fired another arrow, sending the Pillager behind them to the ground, dead. 

“Oh shit! Grian!” Iskall turned to his friend, worry evident in his face. With armor, an arrow would’ve been nothing, but neither of the duo was wearing armor. Grian’s face was contorted in pain, and he slid to the ground, resting against the back of Sahara Express. 

“It’s- I’m fine! Trap that last Pillager then we can deal with th-this!” Grian gasped, clutching his left shoulder.

“Dude are you sure?” Iskall said, hovering over Grian. 

“Y-Yeah! Otherwise we’ll keep having them shoot at us!” 

“Okay, uh, yeah, you’re right! Just-“ Iskall cursed as an arrow lodged itself in the wall beside him. “Just hold on! Don’t do anything stupid!” 

Grian didn’t respond as Iskall turned and ran off to trap the pillager. He needed to get this arrow out now. Luckily, the crossbow arrows were rounded all the way, with a sharp point, unlike regular arrows that were shaped like a triangle. That meant he could pull the arrow back out! Grian blink away the dark spots in his vision as he dug through his bag, looking for something to bite down on so he didn’t alert Iskall to his plan. String, wood, his axe, a strip of leather, more wood.... Oh! Leather! That was the perfect item. 

Grinding his teeth into the leather, Grian tried to take a steadying breath while inching his hand up the arrow shaft to where in pierced his flesh. White hot flashes of pain made him sick, his head buzzing and stomach rolling. 

_Okay Grian._ He thought to himself. _Just to the count of three._

_One._

“Got him! I’m coming back Grian!”

_Two._

“Grian? Hey dude what are you-“ 

_Three!_

“GRIAN!” 

And Grian screamed. The arrow made a sickening squelching noise as it pulled back out of the wound, dragging who-knows-what back out with it. Grian sobbed a breath, the leather and the arrow falling to the side as he curled in on himself, unable to see through the burning pain. Iskall had sprinted over and slammed to his knees beside Grian, hands hovering over his friend. The screaming that turned to breathless sobs was unbearable. 

“Grian! Grian, you’ll be alright, I promise dude, you just need a potion. Lucky you, ha, I have a regeneration one on me!” Iskall blabbered, almost dropping the glass bottle in the process. Grian didn’t respond, too busy trying to battle unconsciousness. His head rang and his eyes blurred and his thoughts crumpleded and all he could feel was static and pain and pain and pain pain pain pain pain pain pa in p a i n _p a i n P A I N P A I N -_

“Come ‘ere,” Iskall said, and tilted Grian’s head back. He looked terribly, pale and sweating, his eyes fluttering dangerously. “Open up and drink. It’ll make you feel better, I promise. 

“I-Iskall,” Grian gasped, clutching his friend’s hoodie. “I-I think... I think I’m gonna pass o-out...” 

“No! Don’t you dare! Dude! Just- drink this- here!” 

Iskall bit on the cork blocking the bottle and pulled it, dumping the contents into Grian’s mouth. Most of it spilled down the builder’s red sweater, but enough got in that Iskall could see the faint glow stitching together Grian’s wounds. The scratches on his arms closed, and Iskall pulled down the shoulder of Grian’s sweater to watch the arrow wound knit itself closed. Grian, overwhelmed by everything, finally allowed black to cover his vision, passing out. 

“C’mon,” Iskall whispered, lifting his limp friend. “Let’s get you home.”


End file.
